when someone asked, why i consume so much art, yet contribute so little myself:
i remembered the nights of nothing
the urge to latch and become through whatever medium i could grasp my bloodied fingers to
fiction is escapism; and offers a temporary relief
then diverts back to bleak.
at around 15,
i cut my hair, brought. second hand Frank Sinatra vinyls and set to the task of absorbing every word, rhythm, note, chorus
i bought art
monet, picasso to start
to feed on and inhale
i wanted to lace my lungs not with stale 3am blank-face-tear-stained. air
but with culture and design and purpose or lack of.
art for the sake of art.
indulge and study, and allow yourself to bloom within mediums
push the constraints
create wholly yourself and you may find you fulfil an identity along the way